| This is not my bed to rest, in the dirt, with no beat hailing from my chest
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| Resurrect me and bring color back to my eyes
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| Dying, pale-faced, sickened friend of mine, speak with me, for the last time
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| Dead man, show me where you rest your head, so I know not to follow any trace
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| of your footsteps
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| Gravedigger, I watched you take a breath, and as the color left your face,
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| the earth became your bed
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| This is the end, of your existence, but my own fate, lies in the palm of my
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| hands
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| So every breath, moves with steps, to keep you far from me
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| There’s no escaping the truth
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| There’s no coming back for you
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| I feel death’s hands wrapped around my neck
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| But dear god, I want to live instead
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| This is the end, of your existence, but my own fate, lies in the palm of my
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| hands
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| So every breath, moves with steps, to keep you far from me
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| Only I will watch my veins run dry, and give out
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| Are we alone in life? |
| Or only when we die?
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| Maybe with death will come a light, to be spread over the sky and bring the end
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| of something beautiful
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| Maybe my life is meant to chase, a god without a face, to build me as I’m meant
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| to be
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| Oceans flood my, bruised and red eyes, as I awake and see the sun
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| Maybe with death will come a light to be spread over the sky
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| Dark sky |